


Leprechauns and Other Myths

by merelyafigment, visionofblue (merelyafigment)



Series: Two Paths Diverged [4]
Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: I set sail alone on the ship no one asked for, M/M, all pre-slash no gen, and no actual O'Reily yet, contains no actual leprechauns, it turns out my slow burns are awkward and clunky, notice how I said yet?, so much conversation really, whiplash-inducing conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26406505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyafigment/pseuds/merelyafigment, https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyafigment/pseuds/visionofblue
Summary: Miguel Alvarez is not in his best mood after being yanked around and unjustifiably punished by Warden Glynn. He finds Beecher for another chat, or more accurately -- he broods in the library and lets Beecher find him.(Follows"The Huntsman". Set around the events of "Ancient Tribes" in season 2.)
Relationships: Miguel Alvarez & Tobias Beecher, Miguel Alvarez/Tobias Beecher
Series: Two Paths Diverged [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898122
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	Leprechauns and Other Myths

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Oz was full of bad language, homophobic and racist slurs and attitudes, misogyny, terrible attitudes towards many things really, bad deeds, etc. They were an offensive bunch, and this fic contains those offensive things. Miguel is also fairly insensitive about mental health issues this whole series.
> 
> Author's Note: okay, this is officially Alvarez/Beecher pre-slash now. Wave goodbye to the Gen. If you don't want to think about these two getting together, now would be a good time to turn away from this series. (No judgment, I'm aware they're not everyone's cup of tea.) Although, it's still the world's most awkward slow burn, so don't expect actual slashy happenings in this bit if you are rooting for them. Alvarez isn't an entirely reliable narrator in regards to his interest in and feelings for Beecher (due to his not understanding them). Plus, he remains willfully ignorant about certain things. Beecher may be ahead of him on the slashy learning curve, but he's not the POV for this one. (He will be for the next fic in this series, most likely, and he'll be bringing along O'Reily.)

Miguel was still trapped in a dark mood, despite being sprung from the hole after what was probably anyone's shortest stint. Didn't matter how quickly they let him out, it was still too fucking slow -- he shouldn't have been thrown in there in the first fucking place. That cocksucking warden just had to flex and grind Miguel down because he could. The bitter anger at all the shit that motherfucking tyrant Glynn had piled on him was still resting heavy in his gut. Even after sleeping, which hadn't come very quickly when he'd been returned to his pod in the middle of the night. Even after showering off the grime the next morning. Turned out, it only took a day for that place to make him feel fucking filthy. Even after ranting to his boys all through breakfast. He couldn't even play checkers without wanting to flick the fucking things at the nearest hack. 

Miguel hadn't done dick to deserve any of it. And what, the asshole thought he could just let Miguel out of the hole, and all would be forgiven? He'd stolen Miguel's time with his family, people who actually missed him and gave a fuck. Father Mukada wanted Miguel to forgive that hypocrite Glynn. But Miguel wasn't a fucking priest. What happened to the good Father during the riot might still bother Miguel a little, something like a regret buried deep where he didn't have to look at it too often. He knew shit was different with the man no matter what the Father said, and that change was not one Miguel was happy with. But even for Father Ray... nah, Miguel wasn't a fucking priest. Some shit he just couldn't let go.

Miguel found himself in the library not long after he gave up on checkers and shooting the shit with his boys. None of it had made him feel settled. Maybe he needed a moment of quiet, and that was a good place for it, especially when the librarian wasn't in. Probably because the assholes in here didn't read much.

Before too long, Beecher's low whistle pierced the silence, sounding like a sad commentary on what he saw. "You look like somebody shit in your cornflakes."

Maybe it wasn't the quiet he'd been looking for, because Miguel didn't mind at all when Beecher interrupted it. He'd noticed when Beecher entered because you had to track that shit in here, but he hadn't looked up from what he was reading until the other man spoke.

Miguel smirked at his choice of words, but it was harder than it usually was around Beecher. "Nah, I don't have any enemies that are like you, Beecher. Mine are fucking different."

"Whatever's making you so grumpy, was it Schillinger's doing, because you warned me?" Underneath the usual slightly harsh playfulness to most things Beecher said now, Miguel found what seemed to be genuine concern. Like Beecher felt bad, if he was the reason for whatever had upset Miguel.

Beecher was keeping his distance, standing a bit away from where Miguel sat. Like maybe Tobias was wondering if he was intruding, but he wasn't going to outright ask. 

Miguel kicked out the chair across the table from him in an invitation for Beecher to sit. "Nope. My own mess, amigo. Got fucked with by the warden. Got thrown in the hole. Although, I didn't do shit. Fucking Glynn is a power mad bastard who thinks he can do whatever the fuck he wants with our lives."

Beecher didn't even grab a book before joining Miguel. Maybe he'd followed Miguel in here to talk to him. Or maybe Beecher had just been wandering around acting like a limerick-spouting lunatic, since it was a habit the man had kept up. 

"Ah. I don't think I can get close enough to Glynn to bite off his dick for you, or shit in his food." Beecher lamented.

Miguel snorted, mostly humorously. But only mostly. It was kind of weirdly touching, because Beecher didn't sound entirely like he was just kidding around, at least not about being on Miguel's side. "Don't develop a taste for dick, Beecher."

Beecher's face hardened, in his own special way -- his words and expression growing sharper and nastier, showing more of the true edges to his crazy behavior. "Well, you did call me a maricon."

Miguel felt a twinge similar to the one he'd felt last night when having to face Father Ray, trying to find something to say about the off feeling between them when the priest had fetched Miguel from the hole. Didn't feel as bad, of course, since he hadn't left Beecher feeling betrayed like he had the Father. When it came to hurling the insult at Beecher back in the day, Miguel had just been an asshole to a man he didn't know at the time. That sort of thing didn't usually bother Miguel, but it did now. Maybe because he knew Beecher now or something.

"I meant a taste for biting 'em off. Didn't mean it like that." Miguel shrugged, no trace of humor left in him at the moment. "You do you, man. I ain't gonna judge your life choices and shit like that. If it's _your_ choice. We both know that wasn't your fucking choice." Yeah, he'd _always_ known it wasn't Beecher's choice, but he'd judged the man, anyway. Looked down on him. He sort of wished he hadn't now, and it spurred his attempt to smooth things over. 

"I know better now." _I know you better_. Not all of Miguel's gruff words made it out of his mouth, but the ones that did came out quiet, almost like an apology. The sudden small desire to make amends wasn't because the guy was dangerous and crazy now. He wasn't dangerous to Miguel. 

Beecher made a small noise, like a hum, signaling that Miguel's words had been considered and accepted, apparently. Miguel just waited, leaning comfortably back in his chair, the book he'd been reading ignored between them. He was fine for the moment watching the man sitting across from him think. Beecher was still doing that shit with his beard, carving it up in angular patterns that weren't the norm. It added a sharpness to his eyes, their confusing greenish-blue not settling on an easy definition at the moment. Miguel was getting so used to the beard that he couldn't really remember what the guy looked like before when he was baby-faced.

Beecher was being more serious than not for the moment as well. "I had a plan, you know. For Vern. I had him right where I wanted him when you came to me."

Miguel raised an eyebrow, but let the man talk. Maybe he'd explain what the fuck that meant.

"I did it on purpose. I antagonized him until he came after me. I wanted him to fuck up his parole. It worked!" There was a weird bitter edge to Beecher's words, making his sudden cheer at that last declaration seem forced. "Your warning merely let me know it was all going according to my plan." Beecher paused to look him right in the eyes and everything false and forced dropped away. "I did appreciate you warning me, regardless." It still seemed like he meant the words, like it really meant something to him.

But shit, man, that was one fucked up plan. You could drive a fucking semi through the holes in it.

Miguel let his initial disbelief and disapproval show on his face, not bothering to temper it. "Did you think that plan through, hermano? I mean, weren't you a fancy ass lawyer? I assumed you were smart." 

Sure, Miguel had _just_ said he wouldn't judge, but he'd meant like, if Beecher decided he liked fucking with guys, or wanted to start blowing bubbles in the middle of Emcity, or something. Not this, the world's most short-sighted dumbass plan that ended up putting Beecher in serious fucking danger. 

Miguel was not done his rant, drawing forward to continue, partially leaning across the table. He wasn't quite in the man's face, but he wasn't holding back in word or gesture. "First off, I could've just fucking killed you when he asked me. Or somebody else could've taken him up on his offer." 

Miguel had thought that hack Whittlesey actually had. He'd heard everyone talking about Beecher being snatched out of his pod in the night by Whittlesey, and people saying he was dead. He'd thought he hadn't warned Beecher in time, or done enough, or... _fuck_. He'd really thought the rumors were true and Beecher had gotten whacked. The return of those thoughts that had haunted him until Beecher had returned alive made his voice even harder and more unforgiving. "Second -- your plan working out perfectly still fucking sucks for you, man! He ain't got nothing but time and reasons to plot to destroy your ass. He's got nothing left to lose now! You would've been a hell of a lot safer with that cocksucker on the outside, happily burning crosses or fucking goats or whatever brings that twisted motherfucker joy. He would've been gone." Miguel ended his statement with the definitive slap of his hands landing flat on the table between them. To his credit, Beecher didn't flinch.

Fuck. Miguel was getting pissy because he was _worried_ about the man. Maybe it showed, because Beecher didn't get pissed off right back in his face, merely watching Miguel instead. Like really looking at him, and taking in his words for what they were. 

The twisted thing was, Miguel did get it. Beecher couldn't kill Schillinger, which was frankly what Miguel would've done, but Beecher could make him fucking suffer. Make him pay. Take away his hope. Destroy him in other ways, after Beecher's own destruction at the man's hands. Yeah, Miguel fucking got it, all those urges were very familiar to him. Schillinger deserved this shit, and a hundred times more. But Beecher, fuck, he was screwed going the route he did. Miguel was torn between understanding completely, with an echo of all that vengeful fire in his own veins, and realizing just how dangerous it was and wishing Beecher was... _safer_.

For some reason, Miguel didn't even care that his surprising new concern showed. It would've been nice if he was all concerned and shit over someone who wasn't so reckless. Someone who hadn't taken the warning Miguel had given him and just thrown it the fuck away. But, well -- it was what it was. Maybe he could blame the priest for this one, too. Miguel was feeling shit he wasn't used to and actually leaning into it. That had worked out so well before, with his kid. Looked like this was going to go great, too. _Jesus_. Maybe he was bugs, like they thought. He went to prison and _found a friend_. And his possible new friend, who wasn't blood or gang or any of the ties that he was more used to, was the world's dumbest lawyer.

Beecher was also vicious, and brutal, and focused on bringing pain raining down on those who had hurt him. Fuck yes, Miguel understood. Didn't mean he was happy about the predicament Beecher had put himself in, even if Miguel probably would've done the same fucking thing under the man's specific circumstances.

"That has already been pointed out to me, Miguel. But thanks." Beecher's trademark sarcasm was sort of shaky at the end, like maybe a tiny bit of regret was finally sinking in. 

Miguel figured maybe it had, or maybe Beecher was just dropping his guard a little more, when the other man wearily rubbed a hand over his face.

"I get it." Miguel confessed in solidarity, finally.

"Really? Because that sounded like fairly strong disapproval to me. Maybe I need Dr. Nathan to check my hearing." Beecher looked up at Miguel from where his gaze had been downcast, his expression matching the almost rueful tone.

Miguel's laugh was humorless now. "Nah, I do. He deserves it. All of it. And you could give it to him, the whole face full of shit. I get it. Doesn't mean you aren't more at risk now than you were before."

"I know. I had to do it, anyway." Beecher sounded more serious, even steelier. But still a little weary, Miguel could tell.

"I know." Miguel admitted again.

Okay. They both needed some fucking light in this tunnel of bullshit, Miguel decided. Maybe... maybe this was why he'd come to the library. Miguel had to be a certain person around his boys, hold a certain position in their minds. He didn't really have to give a fuck what Beecher thought about him, but not in that way where he didn't care about someone's opinion because he didn't give a fuck about _them_. 'Cause he had realized he did give a fuck about Beecher. This was more like he could be more of himself, instead of a part of El Norte, a leader in Emcity. The library -- this is where he'd last seen the man, and it was a good place to talk.

Miguel lightly kicked Beecher's foot under the table as he changed the subject. "Hey, motherfucker, I heard you broke our show tune deal."

Beecher grinned a little, like he wanted to lighten the fuck up, too. For real, not the way he pretended not to care about anything sometimes. "In my defense, you weren't actually here at the time. I didn't subject you, personally, to it."

"Nuh-uh. Still counts. If a fucking tree falls in the forest, doesn't matter if I can hear it or not. The tree is still on the ground. You owe me, like a penalty, or some shit." Miguel insisted, feeling a grin tug up his mouth again at this familiar back and forth.

That got Beecher sighing again, but it was clearly a put on this time. "I guess I could _try_ to shit in Glynn's cornflakes.

Even as the bark of laughter left his mouth, Miguel's mind wandered back to what could have been real, but thankfully wasn't. This crazy motherfucker may not have been around to do this with anymore, to have this weird little moment of relief with. (Motherfucker wasn't quite as crazy as he acted, Miguel knew that now, too.)

Miguel looked down at his hands, turning contemplative again, though Beecher was surprisingly good at chasing most of the darkness out of Miguel's thoughts, for a little while at least. "I thought you were dead, you know."

"Were you sad about that, Alvarez?" Bastard was teasing him again, and yeah, Miguel was glad he was around to still do it.

"A little." Miguel admitted easily. Man deserved to know that. Miguel hadn't fucking shown it, not to anyone, but something inside had gotten a little more swallowed up by that darkness when the rumors swirling around Beecher's disappearance had reached his ears. They'd maybe reached a part of his heart. Wasn't going to show Beecher that much, how it had thrown him. But he would've been missed, and that meant something in here. So, Miguel let that much show. "You're interesting to talk to. Would've sucked for me if it was true." 

Miguel needed to move, but he didn't want to get up, so he spun the book lying closed and flat between them, trying to get it to move in a tight circle. "I also thought you were fucking Whittlesey." He admitted with amusement, keeping things from plunging too deep.

"Were you sad about _that_ , Alvarez?" Beecher was good with keeping shit playful, almost bringing that little sing-song rhythm back.

"Nah, man. I was fucking jealous." Miguel let out more admittances, with more low laughter. "I almost get choked out for flirting with a secretary, and your crazy ass gets to bang a hack. Ain't right, man." His expression hopefully captured his annoyance with the unfairness of it all, as well as his intended humor.

Must have, because Beecher's more assured laugh joined Miguel's quieter hints of it. "I'm not, you know."

Miguel just let his expression ask for clarification for him this time. Didn't need words for that.

"Sleeping with Whittlesey." Beecher explained.

"You should be! She's not bad looking for a fucking hack." Miguel objected, his adamancy keeping his hands busy gesturing at Beecher this time. Seriously, that was a shot any fucker should take if they had it.

"You seem pretty invested in this. Are _you_ fucking Diane, Alvarez?" Beecher suddenly asked like the possibility had never occurred to him. 

Miguel wondered if he should be offended by that. ... Yeah, he was a little fucking offended. Despite the fact that any surprise would be reasonable, given that, no, he was not fucking her and it wasn't due to a lack of willingness on his part.

"If she was fucking any of us, it would've been me! I'm one of the best looking motherfuckers in here, and I can be sweet." Miguel continued his passionate defense of what he considered to be valid points. He didn't generally lie about who he was banging, though, at least not when he wasn't just messing around being a smart ass or deliberately trying to piss someone off. Didn't feel like it with Beecher, so he had to give up and admit the unfortunate truth. "She only bangs hacks, I think. So, nope. Think, Bowie -- why the hell would I have been jealous of you if I was banging her, too?"

That got him a look of disbelief, like his logic didn't track. Miguel didn't see why -- it tracked perfectly for him. If he'd been banging her too, wouldn't have been anything to be jealous of. They'd both be having fun, not just Beecher.

"Uh, _because_ we were both sleeping with the same woman at the same time? I think maybe you're failing to grasp how jealousy works, Miguel." Beecher explained, seeming incredulous.

Miguel understood the point the man was trying to make now. That still didn't make him agree with it in this specific case, though. "Nah, man. Wouldn't be jealous of that. She ain't my girl. We could share her. You touch Maritza and you're dead, though." He tossed the last part off with less threat than he usually would have. It was a mild warning, because he wasn't actually trying to scare Beecher.

Tobias was regarding him thoughtfully now, looking amused. "Your mind is an interesting place sometimes." 

"Right back at ya, Beech." Miguel shot right back, grinning with genuine joy now. All the anger and shit that he'd walked in here with was distant now. Yeah, this is probably what had drawn him here, what had made him hope Beecher would follow. He hadn't talked to Beecher alone since he'd turned up not murdered by Schillinger and a hack. He knew it with certainty now, and had to admit it to himself at least, if no one else -- he'd actually _hoped_ Beecher would come talk to him.

Beecher, who was making a little thoughtful noise, to go with his little thoughtful face. Neither of them were remotely serious. " _Can_ you be sweet, though? The evidence is inconclusive, given that you did pretty much agree to share Whittlesey, all the while hypothetically cheating on your girl. Or do you not grasp the concept of what constitutes sweetness, either?"

Fucking Beecher, with his apparently still somewhat white collar lawyer brain that kicked in at random times. It combined really well with his love of teasing and taunting. Miguel didn't even get pissed off by it anymore, most of the time. Didn't now, either.

"Oh, fuck you. I'm nice to you, ain't I? Look at me, not hitting you for saying that shit and everything. It's really sweet of me." He was joking, just like his smirk. No venom or threat or anything backing it up at all.

"That's... not the same thing, Alvarez." Beecher replied, the hesitation making it sound like Miguel was a bit of an entertaining puzzle to him.

Miguel pretty much felt the same way about Beecher a lot of the time. He just moved on to his next point. "Besides, we're locked up. It's not really cheating. Certain shit gets a pass, you know."

"I'm learning so much from you. I'd maybe check with Maritza on that theory before you put it into practice, though." Beecher really had lightened the fuck up, just like he'd lightened up Miguel.

"Don't test the limits of my sweet nature, Tobias." He was still just messing around, though. The anger which maybe would've come in other circumstances with somebody questioning his treatment of his girl (like seriously roaring in and making him hit back) just didn't come. Not with Beecher, when they were just hitting words back and forth like this, on purpose. It was their game to pass the time. It hit him again, more quietly this time, like the realization was really settling in. Because of its importance in here, he let it be repeated. "I'm glad you weren't dead."

He definitely would've missed this. It became even more clear the longer he sat there in the quiet library, filling it with his and Beecher's bullshit. Yeah, Miguel was used to losing people, so he would've moved right along, would've had to. If he could move on from losing his kid, he could move on from losing fucking anyone. But it would have seriously sucked. He didn't even want to think about it. Hadn't wanted to when he'd heard that Beecher was missing from Emcity and most of the rumors said he was dead. And Miguel didn't have to think about it now, what with the rumors being bullshit, and Beecher being alive and right in front of him and all.

"So you said. I do appreciate that, really. You might be pretty lonely in that sentiment, though. I think everybody else was fine with it. I'm sure some people were happy even, given how many people I've pissed off or freaked out." Beecher paused, and he looked not great at the sudden realization, understandably.

Miguel hesitated, for just a second, as he watched Beecher possibly sink into the feeling of not many people giving a fuck if you died. Miguel didn't really want Tobias feeling that, especially after he'd sort of brought some cheer to Miguel's lumps of coal of the last few days.

So he spoke up, revealing his own feelings on the subject in commiseration. Because they could do that, too, he admitted to himself. They had before. It wasn't all just shooting the shit and Beecher's hysterical giggles. If it were only that, he wouldn't have missed Beecher quite as much when he thought the man was gone forever. "Look, Tobias. It ain't just you. I can probably count on one hand how many motherfuckers would truly miss my ass if I catch a shank I can't survive in here. And most of those are my family."

It was true, and yeah, he didn't want to start looking into himself and pondering it either. Hopefully they could bond and share and shit, and then move right the fuck past those dark solitary thoughts for now.

His words pulled Beecher's focus right out of himself and onto Miguel. What Miguel saw in that steady gaze was still serious and contemplative, but it was for _him,_ not Beecher's laments. 

"There's me." Beecher held his gaze just long enough for it to start to sink in, settling beside everything else Miguel was learning lately. Then Beecher let the wild man grin loose again, just a little. Just enough to steer them back away from fucking brooding book time in the library. "So you be sure to save one of those fingers for me. Because I'd miss you, as well, Miguel."

The guy was fucking demented, and rhyming again, but he was also being honest and real. He could be both things. (Like those eyes whose color shifted a little depending on what he was wearing, clothes or persona.) Especially with Miguel. Beecher was still learning about himself, and settling onto his new path, Miguel could tell. But with him? Beecher was both, more comfortably and more real than everywhere else. Miguel just fucking sensed it.

When Miguel broke out his best shit-eating grin, it was real too. It was his mockery that was playful and fake. (And fun.) "Yeah, don't worry. I got one reserved special for you right here, Bowie." 

Miguel proudly presented his middle finger to Beecher's answering smile. Afterwards, his fingers settled into an idle drumbeat on the table between them. "It's because you fucking scare them now, man. And that's good, you hear me? You don't want anyone in here thinking all fond thoughts about you and shit. They might come after you."

"Does this mean you're going to come after me? Because you did kind of just profess your fondness for my continuing to breathe." It wasn't a serious concern, clearly. The way Beecher said it, it was just his own milder middle finger back at Miguel.

Miguel rolled his eyes at Beecher's antics. "Not me, man. This is different. Not like that -- like I meant fuckers who might prey on you if they see you as a fresh face again and shit."

His fingers stopped their rhythm. He didn't actually know how this was different, what exactly they were. _Maybe friends_ was a weird thing to be in here, and it was new territory for Miguel. Possibly new for all of fucking Oz, really. 

"Understood." Beecher said it like he actually did, maybe better than Miguel did at this point. Well, he was probably more used to having more real friends, not neighborhood boys and gang ties. Also, Beecher was clearly more used to weird impossible shit. "And you're not scared of me at all."

It was a bit of a fast shift, but Miguel wasn't surprised at that from Beecher. He had a lot of shit going on in his head, and he tended to follow it pretty freely these days. It sort of connected back to what they'd been saying in a way that Miguel could follow, anyway.

"Nope." This subject was much easier, anyway, and he had a sure answer at the ready.

"I'm certifiable, remember?" 

Miguel had no clue why Beecher acted like this was new information that Miguel was not aware of, all the time, and he needed to be reminded or something. Also, even with all of the shit Miguel gave him about it, and liked to jokingly think about it, it was actually up for debate how crazy Beecher really was. His actions were extreme and fucked up, sure, but so were his situations. Miguel kept seeing more and more of the genuine person Beecher was, too. He wasn't all dick-biting and singing. Did have some fucked up coping mechanisms, but Miguel was fine with them.

"I've had some certification myself." Miguel gently ran the backs of his fingers over the scar on his face, illustrating his point.

Beecher had a lot of fucking issues, and he hadn't figured them out, but that wasn't all he was. Miguel was seeing that now. He sort of liked that, too, though.

Beecher still looked like he was mulling something over, before the motherfucker swung a little wild again. "Would you be afraid to put your dick in my mouth?"

 _There_ was Miguel's anger, the instant ignition of fire inside of him, hardening his voice into a growl, turning his face to stone. "I ain't fucking like that."

When Beecher swung that fucking wild, Miguel followed apparently. 'I'm no fucking maricon' was right on the tip of his tongue, cocked and ready. But he just managed to hold it back, surprising even himself. He knew why he had to, though. Maricon or fag or any of that shit would rip open that old scab and circle them back to Miguel's insult from before they knew each other. Still, this was a more fucked up turn than he'd thought, and Miguel was gonna shut it down instead of following along with it.

The heat flared up inside of him so quickly, Miguel didn't even know if he was upset about Beecher acting like Miguel went around casually fucking guys in here or something, or the thought it suddenly brought to Miguel's mind of even being the type of guy who would do the shit the Nazis did to Beecher.

Miguel wouldn't. He may be so fucking horny he was going a little batshit, like everybody else in here, but he never had and never would take a fucking prag. He had never touched a fucking guy at all, never wanted to, and he wasn't going to go sticking his dick in his friend's mouths. No matter how strange or suddenly infuriating those friends were.

All Miguel knew for sure was his whole body was tense now, ready to fucking spring. He may still be glad Beecher wasn't dead and all, but he also sort of wanted to hit him at the moment. Not enough to actually do it, and he immediately realized he wouldn't. If he really wanted to hit Beecher, he would've let his fist fly already. He sort of had anger management issues that way. 

Still didn't mean he wanted to have _this_ discussion with the man.

But when he leveled a _Fuck You_ gaze at Beecher, he found a sort of mirror of it staring right back at him all of a sudden.

"It wasn't a fucking offer, Alvarez." Beecher's voice was its most dangerous, full of edges and wielding profanity in a way he'd picked up in here. He held Alvarez's eyes with that same steadiness. "I was not entertaining the fucking idea. I was merely curious as to just how unafraid of me you are." His tone still wasn't one of surrender. Not weak and running scared, just trying to make himself clear. Beecher was looking at him carefully, and must've seen that that wasn't clear enough yet. He backed off some in word and deed, dialing them back from whatever the fuck that was while leaning back in his chair again. "Let me explain -- I was thinking about no one caring if I'd been killed, partially because some of them are afraid of me now like you said. Like my roomie, even. Hill sometimes holds his dick in his sleep, and I don't think it's for comfort. I think he's scared I've developed that taste you were worried about. I haven't, by the way. So I was wondering, that's all."

That was mostly fucking clear. Wasn't what Miguel had initially thought, at all. He relaxed a bit too, letting out a breath. "I wouldn't fucking do that." Still probably best to state it, more calmly this time but still firm.

"Yeah, I got that. I wouldn't be chatting with you in the library if it seemed like you would." Beecher's sarcasm was bleeding out a little again, even through his sincerity.

Took a beat, because he needed it. He watched Beecher's face, but... he just looked like Beecher. Wearing less of a crazy mask than ever, really. He hadn't been implying dick about Miguel, or them. 

Jesus. Miguel really hated his apparent new fucked up taste in friends sometimes.

But like everything else in here, again -- it was what it was. Beecher had his own shit to deal with, tangling him up inside. And maybe he was wondering what Miguel wanted with him, Miguel reminded himself. Miguel sort of had literally just warned him about guys coming after him, despite clarifying that he didn't count.

Maybe he had even been wondering if Miguel might try something, since he wasn't afraid of Beecher like most motherfuckers were now. Sure, that was bullshit and wouldn't happen, but Beecher understandably had to keep that in the back of his head about everyone, given what _had_ happened to him.

Beecher hadn't even been _trying_ to piss him off. The man's brain just followed weird paths to weird places. Miguel knew this. Fuck it -- Miguel could show the annoying fucker they weren't like that and everything was okay.

"Hell, yes, I would be terrified. That beard of yours would scratch the shit out of me." He returned to an easy teasing tone to show Beecher that the idea was so absurd they could laugh it off. Hopefully it was clear he'd never fucking thought about it. Well, Miguel's previous aggressive reaction had probably shown the man that just fine, too.

Beecher's short laugh was quieter, rougher than usual, but it was still there and real. "Wait a minute. How would you even know that?" He was teasing right back, no problem.

"Fuck off, man. Not from experience. I only get it up for women. My dick isn't going near any beards." Miguel's retort was a little rougher, too. But he wasn't starting shit, and he didn't feel on the defensive anymore, so it was still more humor than anything. "I remember from when I slapped my hand over your crazy fucking mouth to stop you from singing. Was all fucking stabby."

Beecher gave him a bit of a look again suddenly, though. "You remember how that felt? Why?"

Something about the way Beecher said it, or maybe what the answer actually was, because Miguel didn't really know, made him tense up again. "I don't need this today, Beecher. I've been through enough shit lately."

Why the fuck _did_ he still remember that? Lack of close casual contact in here or not, the feeling shouldn't still be rattling around in his brain, under his skin. He didn't want to fucking think about it right now, he knew that much.

"Sorry." Beecher pulled Miguel's attention back, again, out of his head. He'd returned to being all calm and serious. "No really, forget it, Miguel. I'm not trying to mess with you." It seemed genuine, but Miguel was a little wary when the man paused again, his gears clearly turning. "You said earlier that Glynn harassed you for no reason. Or did he actually have one, and you just don't agree with it?"

Miguel blinked at the new swerve. He didn't like, startle or anything, but Beecher really could give a guy whiplash sometimes. Must be even worse inside of Tobias, Miguel realized. So much swinging, back and forth, trying to put all the new pieces together and survive. Miguel could've just gotten off the ride. At any point, really. He could just walk away, and let Beecher spin off singing and finding new weapons or new parts of himself alone.

He didn't want to.

Miguel had already thought the man was gone from his life once, and he really hadn't fucking liked it. He knew, after waking up a few days ago thinking Beecher might be dead or otherwise _not fucking returning ever_ , that he didn't want to never be able to talk to the other man again.

Before he could start figuring that out, and probably brooding or snapping at Beecher again, he focused on Beecher's question. It seemed important. He could rattle off the details of the past few shitty days now, no problem. "No fucking reason, amigo. He fucking pulled me out of the cafeteria for a dumb remark anybody could've made during his stupid speech. Then he yanked me off my work detail to stand around his office with my thumb up my ass. Made me miss my visitation. Then the scumbag punched me and tried to choke me because his secretary was making eyes at me and I flirted with her. I mean, she was hot, man."

His rage over it all still simmered below the surface, but chilling with Tobias had somehow helped. Even with Beecher's fucking confusing and frustrating hairpin turns, Miguel was still drowning in it less than he had been before.

"Hmm. I didn't do criminal law, or human rights abuses or anything like that. I do have a lot of time, however. I could look into it." Beecher was partially looking at him, and partially clearly chasing down thoughts and mapping out routes in his own head. "You could maybe file a complaint if he abused his power and punished you without justification."

That's what this was. Beecher making amends for irritating him, maybe. Or maybe just showing that yeah, Miguel had a fucking friend in here.

Miguel shook his head, bemused by it all again. Couldn't stop the slightly derisive snort that escaped when he pondered how well that would work out for him, though. His displeasure was aimed at the fucking wannabe king warden, and the system itself, though -- not Beecher. "Would that actually do anything other than make him punish me more?"

"Probably not, no." Beecher conceded with his own wry shake of the head.

"Maybe just get on that shitting plan, then." Miguel suggested cheekily.

"In the meantime, maybe you should be careful about flirting with any more secretaries." Beecher advised.

"You worried about me, baby?" Miguel's question was mostly a return to their easy teasing. Beecher did seem a little concerned about him, though.

"Yes." Beecher answered with zero pause for thought, and he wasn't teasing at all. Miguel noticed. "I'd actually prefer it if you didn't get yourself choked again. But there's also a minor concern about them, as well. You could make them nervous."

Okay, now that last part wasn't touching or cute at all. Beecher had said _it_ seriously, too.

"Fuck you, pendejo." For the first time in quite awhile, Miguel meant the insult he aimed at Beecher, and it fucking showed. "I'm good-looking, and fucking charming -- the ladies love my ass." He wasn't relaxed now. Or confused. He was fucking pissed. And he didn't feel particularly worried about bringing up Beecher's past pain and hurting him with it any more, either. Because he could, and right now he _wanted_ to. "Just because you hung around licking the boots of racist fucks too long doesn't mean I'm some thug that scares tiny white women."

Threw that Nazi prag pain right in his face, and didn't feel bad about it at all. That was some bullshit Beecher had just implied, and the fucker deserved it if that's what he thought about Miguel. "Fuck you, sincerely, man, for even thinking--"

"Wait!" Hear me out." Beecher had his hands up, like he was trying to stop the flood of Miguel's anger. Still steady, though. Looked a bit apologetic, but not scared.

"You got one fucking minute. In honor of how much I didn't hate you five minutes ago." Miguel stated, keeping his expression stone. He wasn't used to breaking that out around Beecher, really. Was real fucking easy at the moment, though. It came naturally, like his laughter usually did.

"I know all that, Alvarez. I didn't mean to imply you're a thug terrorizing women. I'm sorry about that. I know that you're not. I do have some experience being terrorized by thugs, after all." Beecher gave him a look at the reminder, like he was none too pleased with Miguel himself at the moment for that shot, either.

Miguel shrugged out a somewhat apologetic grunt and dropped his glare. The more Beecher talked, the more his anger faded. He could tell Beecher meant it, about not meaning it the way it fucking sounded. 

Beecher did know him some. He possibly knew Miguel better than a lot of people in here did, and Miguel hadn't really thought of that until now. He sort of wondered for a second how that had happened, and how long it had taken. Maybe it was just that nobody knew anybody in here very well to begin with, so it hadn't taken Beecher much to get closer to him than most. Miguel let those thoughts go for the moment. 

Regardless, Beecher wouldn't be hanging around Miguel, jokingly offering to get revenge on the warden for him, if he thought of Miguel that way. Plus, the prag shit had been a low blow. He should maybe apologize for that. All things considered, what with how Beecher had kept throwing him off, he wasn't going to out loud. But he relaxed his posture as his anger abated, and his entire attitude change should be clear enough.

"I don't want to offend you again, but..." Beecher raised his eyebrow, and his expression felt a little like a cautious warning.

"Oh, Jesus, Beecher. What are you going to say to piss me off now?" He was just grumpy, though, not menacing. Beecher still didn't look scared, so he must've understood.

"I'm not trying to." Beecher patiently explained. "But you _are_ an inmate at a penitentiary and they aren't trained guards. You want to flirt with Whittlesey all day long, she can take it. But I would scare whatever woman or women you're talking about, too. If we're alone with the outside staff, they aren't armed. They could find us intimidating. They don't know who we are or what we're in here for, just that we're locked up. And if they're tiny as you mentioned, we're most likely stronger than they are." 

Shit. He hadn't really thought of it that way. Alone with someone unknown and possibly more dangerous than you. That was probably how Beecher had felt when he first landed here, and probably why his mind went there.

Beecher paused again, clearly thinking of something. "It's Glynn's new secretary you were originally talking about? She is pretty cute, if that's your type. I saw her when I was tagging along on a meeting with Sister Pete. I'm sure she probably was interested in _you_ , what with your winking, and that thing you do with your voice. Plus your muscles and your everything probably made a good impression." Beecher sort of made a vague gesture to the entirety of Miguel, including his face. Seemed about right, given that he knew his _everything_ was impressive. "But I know _I_ definitely scared her, and I was with a nun and didn't even talk to her."

"Oh. Well, you're fucking terrifying." Miguel gave in, trying for conciliatory rather than insulting. He had been kind of a dick to Beecher for a second there because of the misunderstanding. "I get it, Tobias. Ain't pissed any more. Shouldn't have talked about the--" He made his own vague gesture with one hand, not really wanting to talk about the boots and degradation again. His gesture was more apologetic, though. "--You know, everything with the fucking Nazis, like that. Was pretty fucked up to throw it in your face." That was pretty much an apology, and he let his tone convey it as well.

"It was." Beecher's calm short response was apparently the only acceptance of Miguel's almost apology he was going to get. It was enough. 

"You're very handsome and charming. And I'm sure you can get all the wee women you want." Beecher continued in agreement with Miguel's earlier words, and he was finally fucking around again. But the previous shit had been pretty sincere. Even part of that had sounded like he meant it, behind the joke.

"Wee women? See, when you say it like that you make them sound like leprechauns, Tobias. You're hanging out with O'Reily too much." Miguel shook his head sadly, like he was disappointed. He probably looked too amused to pull it off, though.

"I thought you didn't find me terrifying." Beecher was the one tapping out a little beat on the table now.

"Nope. Told you already." Miguel was weirdly okay with repeating himself and expanding on it to the man, though. "Just find you interesting and amusing, Bowie. You're good company, when you're not pissing me off and insulting me. And you're tougher than I thought. You terrify a lot of other people now, though." It was Miguel's turn to pause and think for a second, about something he maybe hadn't properly addressed before, because Beecher had been saying crazy shit again. "Am I scary to you?

It may have occurred to Miguel to ask straight out a bit late, but with the dick-in-mouth comment of earlier maybe he should. He didn't particularly like how it felt to think that might really be a worry of Beecher's when it came to him.

Even if he was just worried Miguel would kick his ass or something. He wouldn't. Not without a good reason. Honestly, even if Beecher gave him one, like did something truly stupid to him or disrespected him in front of his boys, Miguel would give him a chance and warn him off first. He'd done the same for Father Mukada back in the day, cutting him some slack for disrespecting Miguel and sticking his nose where it didn't belong. But he'd had to watch the Padre be brutally pulled into the riot right afterwards. He'd let it happen, knowing trying to stop it would've ended with them both dead anyway. The good Father didn't come around him for a really long time afterwards. All that past shit made Miguel more hesitant around people who mattered, and the people who'd been there for him. Which Beecher sort of was, in his own whacked out way. He wanted to be more careful with them. There weren't many of them, after all.

"I feel like you want me to say yes, so I don't insult your manhood." Beecher still didn't sound very scared though, poking at him like that.

Miguel smiled, because that kind of jab wasn't irritating at all when Tobias did it. "Nah, I know I'm a dangerous motherfucker. I meant, are you scared I'm going to hurt _you_ without a reason? And do me a favor and skip your customary crazy loose cannon who isn't afraid of anything answer. Be honest."

"Well. The only thing you've done to me without a reason lately is warn me, to help me." Beecher started slowly, like he was seriously considering it like Miguel had asked him to. "Granted, I have learned some important lessons about trusting people in here in the hardest ways possible. But we've been alone together quite a few times, like right now for instance, and we're both quite unharmed. I'm less wary of you than most, as long as you don't suddenly have a reason to come after me. No, I guess I don't find you unreasonably scary, Miguel." Beecher admitted. "I _am_ a bit of a crazy loose cannon, though, you know."

"Mm." Miguel nodded a little thoughtfully in agreement, because that was true. The part about Beecher being unafraid of anything wasn't, though. That was an act. This was yet another thing Miguel knew about the man after observing him and talking to him. "But you're not actually fearless, Beecher. There's still shit you're afraid of. You just don't let it stop you. You push past the fear. You fucking ignore it." Miguel let it sound like the accomplishment it truly was. Beecher used to let the fear hold him back, but he definitely didn't any more. And it had broken him free.

"You're saying so many nice things to me today." Beecher was being a smartass, but a smartass that also sounded pleased.

"Yeah, and you're telling me I scare women." Miguel's glare was false this time.

"That wasn't how I meant it. I also agreed that you were very handsome." Beecher held up a finger to make that last point.

"Well, that's just stating the obvious, baby. I mean, you got eyes, don't you?" Miguel liked teasing Beecher, as long as it didn't make the other man uncomfortable. Which apparently it didn't. But he hadn't missed some of the other things Beecher had said. They'd stuck in his brain a little, because the man had seemed to _mean_ them, no trace of a smart ass remark anywhere there could've been. (Maybe should've been.) "What the hell did you mean about 'that thing I do' with my voice?"

"You literally just did it. I meant the flirting thing. You're aware that it adds a playful melodic cadence to your voice, right?"

He was aware, actually. Did it on purpose, didn't he? "Nah, the singing thing is your gig, man." Miguel pretended to play it off anyway, but he had a feeling Beecher knew.

"Sure." Yep, he knew. Beech sure could pack a lot of disbelief into one word.

But... "You know I'm not really flirting with you, right?"

Beecher rolled his eyes. "I'm well aware that's just another delightful way you like to mess with everyone, Alvarez. Don't worry. I don't think you're courting me."

"Come on, man. I know you're a little older, and all privileged and everything, but you aren't a _hundred years_ old. Courting? Seriously? Shiiiit."

Judging by the clock Alvarez had been keeping an eye on even when Beecher was being... _fucking Beecher_...Miss Sally's distracting show was wrapping up, meaning it was time to leave his fucked up little possible friend and rejoin the world. It had been the only thing keeping them from being interrupted.

He had known it would, he admitted to himself. He'd fucking skipped watching it himself, and come into the library during it on purpose.

He was just learning so much today. Good or bad, he couldn't tell yet. Time to leave it behind for the moment, though.

He was a little relieved to do that.

And a little bit not.

He still fucking felt better than when he'd come into the library, despite everything.

Fucking crazy.

Him, Beecher, who knew. Probably both of them.

***  
End

**Author's Note:**

> Canon note: I'm unsure if any show with Miss Sally was on the air during this period, but I needed a reason nobody wants to check out a book for like half an hour or more. This series isn't the most canon accurate to begin with, though.
> 
> Author's note: O'Reily will be in the next fic in this series, despite my not planning for that to happen originally. Maybe when you say his name, he just appears, and I can blame Miguel. So far he's trying to partially hijack two upcoming fics in this series. Seriously, I take my eyes off that guy for one second and he takes over entire sections of a fic from a hospital bed, despite not even being part of the pairing.


End file.
